The First Occurrence
by ASGT and Kat Maximoff
Summary: Oliver Twist: A memory that won't go away. Nancy is 7 years old, and for the first time Fagin takes her into his room to teach her a thing or two about what women are for. [Child molestation, heavy implications, etc.]


"Nancy, m'dear, come here," the old Jew said, beckoning the young girl towards him. The girl in question put down her mug of beer (it wasn't until later when she acquired the taste for gin, beer being her liquor of choice for quite a few years), removed herself from the bench where she had been sitting, conversing with some of the boys, and walked over towards him. 

"Yes, Fagin?" She asked him, her young face pale looking up at him eagerly, wanting to please him. He was, after all, the man who had taken her in two years ago after she had mistakenly attempted to copy the actions of a boy- well, man, rather- she had seen in the distance. The girl had thought the idea of reaching into someone's pocket and stealing their wallet a brilliant idea, especially as at the time she had been weak from hunger and terribly, terribly sick. The old man had turned around, and, after seizing her by the wrist and threatening to send her to the "traps" (which she later learned where the police), realized just how young she was, five years old at the time, and how ill she was after she promptly fainted. Luckily, the man had taken pity on the poor creature and, abandoning the boy he was with, the one who had picked the original pocket, took the girl under his wing and nursed her to heath only to induct her into his band of pickpockets, Nancy being the only girl. Nancy, she had told him, had been her name, though she could not give him a surname. The man had thought this fine and did not think less of her because of this. More anonymity, should she be caught.

And now, two years later, the girl was at full health and already had the promise of becoming a fine young woman.

"Come with me, m'dear," Fagin said as she came to him, "into my room. There's something I need your help with." The girl thought nothing of this, though in retrospect she realized the boys she had abandoned at the table were looking at each other, at the girl, then at the old devil, whispering and nudging each other. She should have taken that as the first sign of trouble. Often times the old man would take the other boys into his room for help with something, and upon returning they would neglect to answer her questions as to what exactly they had helped him with.

"Wot d'you need 'elp wiv?" She asked, her accent much more prominant than his own.

"You'll see now, won't you, Nance, eh?" He asked, laughing his laugh and retreating into his room. Without another question, the girl followed him.

Nancy had never before been to Fagin's room and found it quite an interesting place, a small bed made of what she assumed had once been brass was in the middle, the backboard against a wall, a dark green blanket over it, a small night-table next to it, and a dark brown cabinet against a far wall. The window, the one, grimy window, was covered with a dark blue curtain. The second she entered the room, the door behind her shut, giving the girl a start. But Fagin just chuckled and moved to take a seat on the bed.

"C'mere," he said, a twinkle in her eye. Nancy did as she was told, coming to stand in front of him. "Now, Nancy," he said, sounding stern, "You've been living here for two years, yes?" She nodded. "And you're quite the little pickpocket, my dear. No match for what Bill Sikes was once, oh no," he said, referencing the older man, Bill, at this time, being 25, and out of the den on his own, housebreaking. "but no one can compare to what he did- and does, my dear, and what he does!" He chuckled before continuing. "You see, Nance, my dear, it has come to my attention that you, perhaps, you indeed owe ol' Fagin something, don't you?"

She looked at him puzzled, smoothing out her faded blue dress. The dress had been brought her way, incidentally, by one of the older boys, an Eddie Erwin, who made his living, unknown to the young girl, as a grave robber. The dress she now wore had once belong to a young girl who had died, according to her headstone, of lupus. Nancy was blissfully unaware of this and thought the dress had been made new for her by a friend of Eddie's.

"Yes, yes, I suppose you do," he continued on. "Yes..." he began to eye her, a different type of look in his eye. "You do."

"Wot d'ya mean?" She asked, furrowing her brow. "I give you wot I make, don' I?"

"Oh, Nancy, you do. My but you're a clever girl, aren't you?" She had to smile at this. "But for all this food? For the clothing on your back? For a place to sleep? No, no, it's not enough. You see, all the other boys pay their dues."

"But I'm not a boy!" She argued, frowning now. "I'm a girl. You know that."

The old man had to laugh again. Already the girl was displaying quite the stubbornness. It was going to get her into trouble one day, he could tell. But she had spirit, and quite enjoyed that about her. "Yes, yes, Nancy dear, yes, you are! How could I ever miss it?" She smiled now, glad to have won the argument. "But the thing is, my dear, you still owe me."

Her hazel eyes widened as she looked at him. "But I don' 'ave nothin' to give you!" She said. "You're gonna get rid of me, ain't you?" Those eyes of hers began to fill with tears.

"Nothing of the sort, my dear," he said, his voice soft and calm. "I've no plans for that."

"Then 'ow am I gonna pay you back?" She asked, beginning to cry. She had hated the streets when she first arrived in London, finding no food, no water, and no love. Her clothing had been in tatters, and the idea of shoes was a laugh. She wouldn't survive a week if he sent her out now. The old man was like a father to the girl, always kid, slipping her an extra sausage here and there, paying special attention to her out of everyone else.

"Shhh, shh," he said, ushering the girl towards him, picking her up and setting her on his lap, gently stroking her hair and her back. "Don't cry now, Nance, shhh. I'm not going to kick you out, you're much too precious for that. The boys and I would all miss you so."

"You would?" She asked.

"Yes, of course my dear, of course." There was a pause as she sniffled. "Turn around now, my dear, look at ol' Fagin." The girl did as she was told.

No sooner had she done so than did he bring his face close to hers and bestow a kiss upon her lips. He pulled back quickly, as the girl just looked at him, wide eyed, bringing a hand to her lips- it was, other than the kissing games some of the boys her age tried to get her to play, the first real kiss she had received from a man. "That, my dear," he said, a twinkle in his eye, "is how you're going to pay me back."

"Wiv kisses?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Is that 'ow the boys pay you back?"

Her childlike wonder never seized to amaze the old man, and he chuckled. "No, no, my dear. They have other ways of paying me back that I won't get into with such a fine young girl as yourself." Another chuckle and she began to relax.

"Are you goin' t' kiss me again?" She asked.

Another chuckle. "Why, did you like it?"

A pause. "...I don' know..."

He chuckled again. "I might have thought so. But never fear, my dear, soon you'll learn to like it, and no doubt be making a living off of it some day."

"Wot does that mean?" She asked, eyes still wide.

"Nothing yet, my dear, nothing yet."

"Oh." She was about to ask him another question when he kissed her again, this time more forceful, his tongue running along her bottom lip. She gasped in surprise as he did so, allowing him access to place his tongue in her mouth. Disgusted, she pushed away from him. "Stop it! I don' like that!"

He chucked again. "Oh, but, Nance, my dear, you will in good time." And, truth be told, he didn't care. "But there's no time to learn like the present." His hand had made its way to her knee.

"I want my beer," she said, making to stand up, but he stopped her, his hand around her waist.

"Not so fast, my dear, you haven't finished repaying me for today."

"I don' want to," she complained.

"You don't have a choice," he said, trying to sound rational, but to a seven-year-old, things were rarely rational. "Trust me, my dear, you may find yourself enjoying this." Before she could respond, he kissed her again, more force this time, as she screwed up her face and tried to get away. But the man held her fast, his hand now on her thigh, making her feel all to uncomfortable.

"Please, stop!" she begged him. "I don' like when you kiss me like that!" But he laughed, and removed his hand from her thigh. She didn't have time to be relieved, however, as she soon found it once again on her thigh, this time below her skirts. As he continued his kisses, she wriggled, trying to get away from both his mouth and his hand which had since traveled upwards. "Stop! It 'urts! Stop it!" She cried, tears forming in her eyes, still squirming. But he was deaf to her pleas as he took one of her smaller hands in his larger hands, placing it in his pants.

"I don' want to! Stop it! You're 'urtin' me!" He stopped his kisses just long enough to smirk a the girl.

"No, no, Nancy. You're paying me back now, dear. Just relax your silly little self and enjoy it. Here, I'll even help you." He began to guide her hand, exactly where he wanted it and how he wanted it done, while continuing his kisses, holding the girl too him fast, working his own hand, deaf to her whimpers and her tears. Finally, with one final, slow, agonizing kiss, he withdrew his hand from her skirts and released her own. Handing her a towel, he stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers.

"Now, Nance, was that so bad?" The girl just nodded, whimpering, still crying.

"Don' do that again," she told him, but he just laughed. A terrible laugh, sounding half-mocking, half-kind.

"Don't worry, my dear, don't worry." He patted her on the head and ushered her out of his room. She told herself that he wouldn't. He had told her not to worry, after all. And he was as close to a father as she was going to get. She had paid him back, then. At least for the moment, and hopefully, she'd be able to save some money and pay him back that way. The way he had just done- while part of her found herself enjoying it, something was wrong about it. However, she resolved not to speak to the boys about it.

The boys in question were still at the table when she returned to them, quickly gulping down the rest of her beer. They exchanged glances.

"You alright, Nance?" Georgie Simmons asked, looking at the young girl, all to aware of her tears. Georgie was a fine boy, around 14, 15. He managed to survive until 17 when he was found drowned in the Thames, the traps suspecting it had been the result of a brawl gone wrong.

"Yes," she said shortly, pouty, even.

"...Alright then," Georgie replied, looking over towards Allen Thomas.

"Don' worry about it, Nancy," Allen said, patting her hand sympathetically. Allen was around the age of 16 and Georgie's closest friend. The two boys did most things together, until Allen had been tried and convicted of Georgie's murder. The girl had gone to watch him be hanged, keeping in the shadows and having nightmares for weeks after. They had been good boys, though some of the things they had done to her had been quite the opposite.

"Nothin's wrong wiv me," she said, looking at them over the top of her mug.

"We didn' say that, now, Nancy, did we, Allen?" Georgie asked, bringing the girl towards him, wrapping his arm around her in a brotherly manner.

"Never."

"Good. Because nothin' is."

Georgie laughed. "Alright, but if anythin' is, you can tell us, Nance. We're like your brothers." She looked up at him and smiled for the first time, with one hand taking the bottom of her skirt and drying her tears. The entire incident had been a strange one, and, as she believed Fagin's words, found unlikely to ever happen again.

But Fagin was the devil himself, whose words could never be trusted.


End file.
